Strung (Rock & Romance I.)

Chapter 50. - Out

A/N: I'm baaaack! This one is dedicated to eveemorinn ! Thank you for the love!

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3 Months Later...

*London*

Time heals everything - or at least, that was what my mother kept telling me. In time, on your wedding day, you'll look back at this and laugh. Adelaide Grey was a smart woman, one I respected beyond belief. But she has never dealt with the kind of grief that came from losing your other half.

I cut myself off, cold turkey.

I spent nearly a whole month in Greece, focusing on myself. I took long walks on the beach, explored the cities, lived the culture. I went out to restaurants by myself and didn't take a phone or a book with me. I just lived.

I started painting again - I painted the sea, the sunsets, the charming little town, and its people. I painted the ancient buildings with colorful sheets hanging outside of them. I created art, refurbished a dresser, I traveled and even learned from a local woman who made embroidery.

I did everything but let myself dwell on Lukas LaBelle.

And while I was away, life felt hopeful again. My hands didn't stray from the scenery painting anymore, itching to curve into the familiar planes of that golden face and eyes that seemed bottomless. I no longer thought about whether Lukas would like the song the street musician strummed on his guitar, or if he would've enjoyed the taramasalata I've made. I was finally living in the moment again. Healing.

But it was easier done on a remote Greek island than in my hometown. In Greece, I listened to the waves of the sea around me and the rustle of locals. Back in America, I couldn't even walk into a coffee shop at the airport without hearing a Hazmat song. I couldn't turn a street corner without seeing their faces sprawled over a magazine cover.

They were on TV, on the radio, online... Everywhere I looked there was a new billboard promoting their tour or album or an upcoming event they'd be attending.

It was like they were following me. I never realized just how the band surrounded me, until they were unbearable to look at. I used to dance at their songs while in line at Starbucks. Now, I had to run into the bathroom so no one could witness my panic attack.

And then there were the photographers...

They were less in numbers now, and a lot friendlier than before. But that didn't mean I welcomed them. They waited for me outside stores, forcing me to wear dark sunglasses to cover my tear-stained eyes. They followed me to my studio, while we were out apartment hunting with my mother when I was going to get a wax...

I've had no sense of privacy and nowhere to hide. And to make manners worse, they all felt like it was their obligation to tell me what Lukas LaBelle was up to.

When I came back, I had Ginger install a sort of block on my computer, that prevents any Hazmat material from ever popping up. But while I could block them from my newsfeed, I couldn't block the voice of photographers telling me who he was last seen with, in which city. I couldn't block the feeling of sheer panic when I learned he was out partying with his bandmates and groupies again. Nothing could block out the pain of knowing I haven't received a single call or message from him since I returned.

And while it was precisely what I wanted, it broke me every day.

See, what my mother didn't realize about pain was that pain was bearable. It was hope that killed me.

It was that stubborn, stupid, senseless hope that kept me glancing at my phone, wishing that his name would appear on my screen. It was turning the street corner and picturing that he was there, waiting for me. It was listening to the radio and expecting a new Hazmat song to come on - one that told me how Lukas really felt.